


Knitting for the soul

by mynameisnotthepoint



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Character Study, Introspection, Knitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 05:10:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16847764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnotthepoint/pseuds/mynameisnotthepoint
Summary: What to do on a cold, rainy evening? Knit, of course.





	Knitting for the soul

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is me venturing out of my comfort zone and writing a fic of my own. Linn has always fascinated me as a character, and so I thought I'd try my hand at writing her. Thank you to the wonderful [Treehouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treehouse/pseuds/Treehouse) for reading through and encouraging me!
> 
> EDIT 22/01/2019: I got an IRL friend to proofread this again, and together, we made some changes.

The wind howls around the corners of the house. Fat raindrops clatter against the window panes, cleaning off what little snow there is still left. Only a faint clicking sound fills the room; a needle pulling red thread through itself, forming loops making out the first half of a scarf. It’s a soft thread; it doesn’t hurt where it’s looped around her fingers. She made sure the yarn wouldn’t be chafing the person wearing it when she bought it at some store back home. The row she’s working on isn’t very neat. Loops of yarn sticking out a bit more than they should. When worn, this will be the first thing to be warped out of position.

She has one scarf finished so far. One more to go. No, three more to go. Or just one anyway? It’s not like they come around a lot these days. But somehow, she still thinks of them. Three more, then. It’s not like she has anything better to do. No, she shouldn’t think like that. Last weekend, she actually went skiing again for the first time in over two years. She got out her gear, went home, drove with her cousin to the nearest mountain and went for it. Enjoyed it too. There is nothing quite like it. Sliding through miles of glittering snow, skis making that characteristic not-quite crunching sound, cheeks tingling with cold, the hot cocoa afterwards, walking back to the car under a starlit sky… Yeah, she’d missed it. And yesterday, she baked some cookies with Eskild. The top tray got burnt and the bottom one stayed way too soft, but that doesn’t matter. She made something. With her own hands.

That’s why knitting feels so right. Even if the rows have too-large holes in them, even if the tassels droop more than they’re supposed to in the end—it doesn’t really matter. All that matters, is that the scarf got finished. It exists. An object she can touch. Smell, even. It makes her feel more accomplished than anything else has in a long time. Maybe, by this time next year, she will finally be in university. She has retaken all her subjects now. You can’t really _see_ improvement in math though. At least not the way you can see the smooth surface of a scarf, no loops sticking out. She’s not completely there yet. Perhaps the next scarf. Practice makes perfect, after all.

There’s a hesitating knock on the door. She looks down at her bedside table. Fuck. The tea Eskild brought her has gone cold. Just like the last one he made her. Too lost in her world, she failed to notice it standing there, filling her room with the scent of cloves and cinnamon. In a way, it still served its purpose. Also, there is such a thing as a microwave. And no barista in sight to admonish her for using it. But then she would have to leave the warm cocoon of her duvet.

The knocking sounds again, this time a bit louder.

“Just a moment.”

Not yet. Her work is only for her eyes to see. Until after Christmas, when it will be wrapped and lying under a yellowing Christmas tree. So the finished scarf and the emerging one are stuffed into her knitting basket. She flattens out her duvet and leans back against the wall.

“Okay!”

The door handle is pushed down, the door opened and Eskild’s head pokes around it. He beams down at her.

“Noora cooked something delicious. Come on, let’s eat dinner, Linn!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you want to tell me something or give me some writing tips, feel free to leave a comment ❤


End file.
